Old Farms, Abandoned

Abandoned farmhouse with swing set

Window, abandoned farmhouse

Steps to cellar

Barn ruin

 

“Abandoned Farmhouse”
by Ted Kooser, from Flying at Night: Poems 1965 – 1985

He was a big man, says the size of his shoes
on a pile of broken dishes by the house;
a tall man too, says the length of the bed
in an upstairs room; and a good, God-fearing man,
says the Bible with a broken back
on the floor below the window, dusty with sun;
but not a man for farming, say the fields
cluttered with boulders and the leaky barn.

A woman lived with him, says the bedroom wall
papered with lilacs and kitchen shelves
covered with oilcloth, and they had a child,
says the sandbox made from a tractor tire.
Money was scarce, say the jars of plum preserves
and canned tomatoes sealed in the cellar hole.
And the winters cold, say the rags in the window frames.
It was lonely here, says the narrow country road.

Something went wrong, says the empty house
in the weed-choked yard.  Stones in the fields
say he was not a farmer; the still-sealed jars
in the cellar say she left in a nervous haste.
And the child?  Its toys are strewn in the yard
like branches after a storm — a rubber cow,
a rusty tractor with a broken plow,
a doll in overalls.  Something went wrong, they say.

 

Road Trip to Olympic National Park (Part 1): Hurricane Ridge

“The mountains are calling and I must go.”
— John Muir

Looking out at the Olympic Mountains from Hurricane Ridge, Olympic National Park

My niece is visiting from Israel, and her top sightseeing priorities are some of the American national parks.  So we took a two-day, 500-mile road trip circumnavigating Olympic National Park in Washington State.  You can get to different parts of the park from inroads along Hwy 101, and our destinations offered extraordinary natural diversity, from mountains, to rain forests, to ocean beaches.

Our first stop was Hurricane Ridge high in the Olympic Mountains.  But first we crossed the Sound in a ferry, and then drove through some pretty amazing scenery just to get to the winding road that would take us from sea level to nearly a mile in elevation at Hurricane Ridge.

Field of daisies near Sequim, WA

“I see the wild flowers, in their/summer morn/Of beauty, feeding on joy’s/luscious hours.” — John Clare, from “Summer Images”

Old ruin along Hwy 101 near Sequim

The winding road to Hurricane Ridge

The view from Hurricane Ridge is awesome, with majestic, snow-capped peaks as far as the eye could see.  We ate a picnic breakfast amidst some of the most spectacular scenery anywhere, joined by a curious (and smart, crumb-seeking) bird.  The meadows at the top were beginning to emerge from snowfields, and they were covered with tiny yellow flowers.

Parking lot at Hurricane Ridge

Mountain view

Picnic breakfast

Avian friend

Snow-capped peaks

Melting snow

Scavenging raven (lovely feathers)

Motorcycle riders (I rarely go to a national park without seeing motorcyclists)

My next post will be a continuation of our road trip. . . stay tuned!

Ruins and the Passing of Time

“[Ruins] are relics of another time, of other lives, but they are of my time, too.  They are statues, memorializing the transitory nature of life.”
— Brian Vander Brink, Ruin:  Photographs of a Vanishing America

Derelict house along Highway 97 between Yakima and Goldendale, WA

Ruined house with Mount Adams

“Maybe these buildings fascinate me because they represent all of us — metaphors for our transient lives and the inability to stop the passing of time.”
— Brian Vander Brink, Ruin:  Photographs of a Vanishing America

When I see an old, abandoned house like this, I wonder about the lives of those whose home it once was.  Here it was situated under the wide, open skies of eastern Washington — an arid place, hot, but with snow-capped Mount Adams anchoring the horizon like one of those giant Buddha statues.  What would it have been like to grow up in this house?

“I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all.”
— Ecclesiastes 9:1

Colorado Road Trip (13): Revelatory Ruins

“Ruins, like old farm equipment in my neighbor’s pasture, show us that something remains of beauty in a thing when its function has departed.  Soul is then revealed . . .”
— Thomas Moore, Care of the Soul

Old homestead ruin on the drive to Great Sand Dunes National Park

Abandoned homestead, San Luis Valley

Ruins: Monuments to Decay and Time Passing

Abandoned warehouse, Georgetown neighborhood, Seattle

“We’ll abandon anything and move on.”
— Howard Mansfield

On my first visit to the Seattle Wholesale Grower’s Flower Market I discovered that it was located in one of Seattle’s old warehouse districts.  I am not familiar with the Georgetown neighborhood of Seattle’s south side, but this first visit intrigued me.  I was drawn to the haunting beauty of the derelict warehouses, some of them finding new uses as artist studios.

Derelict warehouse, Georgetown district

Boarded up window

Old warehouse, Georgetown district

Ventilation fan, old warehouse

I am not the first to be attracted to old buildings.  Photographer Brian Vanden Brink has been photographing them for decades, and you can see some of the images in Ruin: Photographs of a Vanishing America.

Ruin, a book of photographs

Two of the photos from the book

“To me they are mysterious and melancholy, hauntingly beautiful. . . Maybe these buildings fascinate me because they represent all of us — metaphors for our transient lives and inability to stop the passing of time. . . They are relics of another time, but they are of my time, too.  They are statues, memorializing the transitory nature of life.”
— Brian Vander Brink, Ruins: Photographs of a Vanishing America

“Man is born to die.  His works are short lived.  Buildings crumble, monuments decay, and wealth vanishes.”
— Percival Baxter

 

 

Old Country School Houses

School house ruin amidst the wheat fields

Another deserted country school house in Eastern Washington

“The old school stands deserted
Alone on the hill by itself,
Much like an outworn chapel
That clings to a rocky shelf.”
     — from “The Old School-House” by Margaret Elizabeth Sangster

I attended a two-room country school house for grades one through five, so I was especially drawn to the sight of these deserted ruins along Highway 2 in Eastern Washington.  When I see these old country school houses, I realize that part of my personal history is vanishing.  I’m thankful that these farmers let the ruins stand in their fields, land that could be used for crops, but instead honoring the last vestiges of a community landmark.